


Acceptance

by francefrancerevolution



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cold, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Stress, Thunderstorms, college acceptance, it turned out rather dramatic oops, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-04
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:29:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/francefrancerevolution/pseuds/francefrancerevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is the only one who really knows Enjolras, which is why he worries so much more than the others. Especially on nights like these, when Enjolras is sick and stressed and has no common sense.  Luckily, these nights are Combeferre’s specialty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> You want more fluffy sickfic? I got more fluffy sickfic. *opens up jacket to reveal a bunch of tiny, feverish Enjolrases* Or whatever the plural of Enjolras is. Anyway.
> 
> This story was written for tumblr user more-of-a-lark-or-a-mockingjay, who is really fabulous. If you have any prompts you'd like to see written, feel free to message me on tumblr or comment or whatever!

Something came hurtling through the door of Combeferre’s apartment, and for a long moment, he thought it was a wild dog, soaking wet from the rain, and wondered how to reach animal control. Then he realized that it was Courfeyrac.

            There wasn’t much different between Courfeyrac and an obnoxious dog, though, as he shook his head furiously from side to side, splashing droplets of rain against the walls.

            “Guess what?” Courfeyrac sang, twirling around the room before plopping down onto the couch beside Combeferre.

            “You got accepted to the university?”

            Courfeyrac frowned, slouching. “Way to wreck my fun.”

            “Okay, I’m sorry. What, Courfeyrac? What oh-so-exciting news do you have to share with me?”

            “I got accepted!” Courfeyrac yelled, pumping his fist into the air before throwing his arms around Combeferre’s neck.

            “Congratulations.”

            “Marius did, too, and we’re gonna room together, I think. We haven’t really talked about it, because he’s been too busy gushing about how Cosette is going too. Do you think Enjolras would want to room with us?” Combeferre bit his lip, and Courfeyrac gasped. “Oh no. You don’t mean. . . Enjolras _did_ get in, didn’t he? He had to have gotten in!”  
            “He hasn’t heard yet,” Combeferre said, his statement followed by a dull thud of something hitting the wall. “And I’m pretty sure it’s literally killing him. Be right back.”

            Combeferre approached the back bedroom with caution, but he didn’t knock. Knocking never did any good with Enjolras, as knocking was a call for a invitation in, and Enjolras never invited anybody into his room.

            Enjolras was lying on his back on the red sheets, staring up at the ceiling. There were no pillows left on his bed, as they were all lying on the floor near the door.

            “Courfeyrac’s here,” Combeferre said gently. “He has some um, good news.”

            “He got in. He got in, and Marius got in, and Cosette, and I didn’t, and everyone else is gonna get in, and move on and I’ll be stuck here with my stupid protests and no one to come to them.”

“Your acceptance letter just hasn’t come yet. Patience. You’ll get in, Enjolras. You have good grades and way too many volunteer hours. You’ll be fine.”

            “Do you think I have too many volunteer hours?”

            “What? No. You’re fine. You’ll get in.”

            “You’re just getting my hopes up.”

            “You’ll get in, Enjolras. Trust me.”

            Enjolras sniffled in response. Combeferre sat on the bed next to him, rubbing his arm gently. Enjolras was wearing his bright red sweatshirt even though it was spring, and bits of red fuzz came off as Combeferre rubbed his hand across it. He made a mental note to get him a new sweatshirt. As a congratulation present. Because Enjolras was going to get accepted. Combeferre knew Enjolras better than anyone else in the world, and he knew that Enjolras had worked himself to the ground all year. He had been the one who quizzed Enjolras with flash cards, who spoke French with him for an entire week in order for him to practice for exams, who had to pick him up and drag him to bed most nights. And Enjolras wasn’t just a smart kid, he was a good kid. He had his protests, and he had his angry letters to the school paper, but he had a cause, and Combeferre didn’t know many another high school seniors who already had a cause they were willing to die for.

            If Enjolras got rejected, Combeferre decided, the system was broken.

            “It’s probably because I didn’t have perfect attendance,” Enjolras said as he rolled onto his side, away from Combeferre.

            “Enjolras, really. You have the flu. Do you think I was going to let you go to class?”

            “I’m not blaming you. I’m blaming myself for having such a weak immune system and that’s what I am, Combeferre, I’m weak and maybe it’s a good thing they didn’t accept me, because I’m weak and I can’t do anything and who would want me anyway?”

            “Enjolras! Stop it. Take a deep breath. Your letter just hasn’t gotten here yet. You’re not weak. You’re a genius and you’re loyal and you’re dedicated, and I will still love you, even if you don’t ever get accepted anywhere.”

            “Good to know, because that seems to be the case.” He sniffled again, the sound louder and more pathetic this time.

            “Are you crying, or do you have a cold?” Combeferre moved to the other side of the bed so he was looking at Enjolras again.

            Enjolras glared at the question. Either way, he was going to have to admit something to Combeferre.

            “I’m not—” he said shakily, before getting cut off by a violent sneeze.

            “You’re sick then.” Combeferre slipped out into the kitchen to get him a box of tissues and put on some water for tea. Courfeyrac was sprawled across the couch, looking quite comfortable and so engrossed in his texting that he didn’t even notice Combeferre appear and then leave again.

            Combeferre picked up one of the pillows on his way back into Enjolras’ room. He lifted Enjolras’ head up, tucking the pillow beneath. At the same time, he managed to casually press a hand to Enjolras’ forehead.

            “Probably just a cold brought on by all your stress lately.”

            “I’m not stressed.”

            “Enjolras.”

            “I’m just . . . anxious.”

            “You’re exhausted, that’s what. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up right away if your acceptance letter comes.”

            For a happy moment, Combeferre thought that Enjolras was going to listen to him. But of course, that was unheard of, and five minutes after Combeferre rejoined Courfeyrac in the front room, Enjolras came striding in like nothing was wrong.

            “Congratulations,” he told Courfeyrac, holding up a hand to stop him before he could launch himself at Enjolras for a hug.

            Courfeyrac hugged him anyway. “Do you want to room with me and Marius?”

            “No.”

            “At least you’re honest.” Courfeyrac kissed him on the forehead, readjusting some of his blond curls.

            “Go back to bed, Enjolras,” Combeferre said as sternly as he could. But Enjolras looked so sad, standing there with watery eyes, like he should have been trailing a blanket behind him and sucking on his thumb, and Combeferre found it hard to be harsh with him. He lowered his voice, turning to Courfeyrac. “He’s a bit under the weather. You wouldn’t mind leaving, would you? We love you, you know, but the university thing is stressing him out.”

            “Oh, right.” Courfeyrac swallowed nervously. “I don’t mind leaving. It’s just . . . I kinda invited Jehan over here already. And Marius and Cosette.”

            “ _What_?”

            “We all wanted to celebrate, and I was already here, and I mean, I thought Enjolras would know by now, so . .. yeah. Party at your place. Yay?”

            There was a knock at the door, and Combeferre sighed.

            Within ten minutes, nearly all of their friends were gathered in Combeferre’s tiny apartment, everyone chatting excitedly and waving their hands and hugging each other in delight, because it was finally here, their time was finally here.

            Cosette looked up from her phone with a wide smile. “Éponine got that scholarship, guys!”

            More squealing. More hugs. More of Grantaire yelling, “for god’s sake, Combeferre, why don’t you have drinks?” and more of everyone wondering why Grantaire was even there, before deciding that it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except their happiness and acceptance.

            Enjolras sat silently in the corner, resting his head in one hand. He looked even more like a statue than usual; pale and dramatically posed and wordless, and every time Combeferre glanced at him, he still hadn’t moved.

            It was, of all people, Cosette who accidently broke him. When Combeferre saw her kneel beside him in the corner, he thought it would be a good thing. Enjolras and Cosette, for some reason no one understood, got along exceptionally well – when Enjolras had the flu last semester, Cosette came over and watched him when Combeferre had classes and played with his hair, and whenever Cosette needed help with studies or just general advice, Enjolras was the first person she called.

            “Hey,” she said, leaning in to give Enjolras a quick peck on the cheek. He shivered at the touch, the warmth of her lips painful in contrast to how cold he was. She took him by the chin and tilted his head to the side, sighing as she looked at his wet eyes and rubbed-raw nose. “Are you okay?”

            “No,” Enjolras said, suddenly jerking away from her.

            Even through his voice was hoarse, a single word from Enjolras managed to shut up the entire room.

            “Are you sick?” Cosette reached a hand toward his forehead, but he moved back again, this time scrambling to his feet. He swayed for a moment, dizzy from the movement when he had been sitting still for so long.

            “I’m fine,” Enjolras said quickly. He bit down on his lip, looking wildly around the room. Each face he stared at seemed to scream at him— _we got accepted and you didn’t._ No one was saying anything, but in his head, he heard their mocking laugher. “I just . . . I can’t . . . I can’t do this, I’m sorry, I need . . . space.”

            He bolted out the door. Combeferre reached out to grab him, but Enjolras pulled away, and he was left with only the bits of red fuzz from his sweatshirt. By the time he pushed passed Coureyrac and Jehan in the door, so engrossed with each other’s eyes that they had barely noticed Enjolras’ departure, and looked out the door, Enjolras was already gone.

            Combeferre came back into the room, shoulders slumped. Cosette had a hand pressed over her mouth, still kneeling on the floor like Enjolras was still right there.

            “I didn’t mean to make him leave!” she said, and Marius took Enjolras’ vacated spot on the floor next to her, giving her a comforting kiss on the nose.

            “I know you didn’t,” Combeferre said gently. “He’s just stressed because he hasn’t gotten his acceptance letter yet.”

            “But he will, won’t he?” Jehan asked anxiously. “Enjolras is smarter than all of us combined.”

            Combeferre nodded.

            “Oh my god, I broke Enjolras,” Cosette whispered.

            “He’ll be right back,” Combeferre reassured her. “He’ll probably just sit outside for a while until he calms down.”

            “I hope he comes in soon,” Jehan said and nodded toward the window, which was already splattered with a few drops of rain.

            Thunder rumbled in the distance. A knot formed in Combeferre’s stomach.

* * *

 

Enjolras had a lot of things going for him. He was smart. He was good-looking, even if he wasn’t aware of it and though girls dropped things in front of him simply because they were clumsy. He was passionate, brave, loyal.

            But common sense was not listed among his assets.

            Which is why, when he ended up standing at the bus stop, he hopped onto the next bus that stopped with a burst of hot steam. “Where does this go?” he asked and the driver mumbled something and nodded for Enjolras to pay the fare.

            It was all the money he had.

            Enjolras went to the back of the bus, wrapping his arms around himself and coughing into his sleeve. He felt awful; not just sick, even though his throat was burning and his nose kept running no matter how much he sniffled, but awful because he yelled at Cosette, because he knew Combeferre was pacing, because he couldn’t stand the happiness of his friends, and that made him an awful person, didn’t it?

            He closed his eyes. _You got in,_ he reassured himself. The letter was just late, the postal carrier hadn’t seen it, it was late and it was going to come.

            But something in the back of his head reminded him that maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe he hadn’t gotten in. Maybe he really was stupid and worthless and weak.

            He sneezed, and the old woman sitting in the middle of the bus turned around. “Bless you,” she said kindly, and Enjolras offered back a weak “thank you” between sniffs. He wished the old lady would magically turn into Combeferre, so he could climb across the seats to him, lay his head in his lap. He wanted to fall asleep with Combeferre holding his hand and stroking his hair.

            But instead, all Enjolras had was the thumping of the rain against the windows and an worn leather seat to lean his head against.

* * *

The impromptu party at Combeferre’s died after Enjolras left. No one left, but the laughed and the hugging stopped. Cosette still looked distressed, winding one of her long curls around her finger. Combeferre was pacing. The rain was pouring.

            Marius and Courfeyrac had gone outside to see if Enjolras was down in the lobby or outside under the building’s overhang, and they came back shaking their heads.

            “Nope,” Courfeyrac said. Combeferre groaned. He had called Enjolras’ cell phone, only to hear his ringtone coming from the back room.

            For a while, no one else had been as worried as Combeferre because they didn’t know. They didn’t know that Enjolras cried in his sleep, screaming about being abandoned, or that a newborn kitten probably had a better immune system than he did. They didn’t know that Enjolras hated thunder, or that his sweatshirt was so worn that it didn’t keep him warm. They thought Enjolras was unbreakable, but Combeferre knew better, and the feeling in his stomach was getting worse.

            “Well,” Grantaire said, splitting open the silence. “Shouldn’t we send out a search party, then?”

            Everyone saw the irony— sweet, sweet Cosette had been the one to “break” Enjolras, and Grantaire, Grantaire who mocked everything Enjolras stood for, was the one who suggested helping him. But no one said anything, because they were all pulling on shoes and grabbing coats and heading out the door.

            “Call me right away if you find him.” Combeferre ordered.

            “Do you want me to come with you?” Courfeyrac asked, squeezing Combeferre’s shoulder.

            “I’d rather do it alone,” Combeferre said, and Courfeyrac nodded.

            “Right.” He squeezed again, before running outside to join Cosette under her umbrella, pushing Marius out of the way.

            Combeferre got in his car, putting his phone in a prominent position on the passenger seat so, if Enjolras called by some miracle, he wouldn’t miss it. He wished he had Enjolras in the passenger seat, instead of his phone. He would have thrown his phone out the window, into the pouring rain— he would have given up every material thing he possessed— if it meant he could keep Enjolras safe forever.

            There was a burst of light and Combeferre’s head snapped toward his phone. But it was only the lightning.

* * *

When Enjolras woke up, the nice old lady was gone. He had stretched himself across the entire back seat while he slept, rolling out of sight, and it seemed the bus driver had forgotten about him, because when Enjolras woke up and immediately started coughing, the driver jumped in surprise.

            “You gotta get off sometime, you know,” the driver said, raising his eyebrows so they disappeared under his cap. “You can’t just sleep there.”

            “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Enjolras felt his cheeks flush and he got up, running off the bus. He realized how hard it was raining just as the bus started to drive off, and he yelled a hoarse “wait!” but it was too late. He watched the lights of the bus until they vanished into the darkness of the rain.

            Enjolras shivered, pulling his hand into his sleeves. He wasn’t sure if he should keep walking, try to find a building or a phone, or if he should just curl up on the wet pavement. He didn’t even know where he was.

            He guessed he had made it was far as the crappy outlet mall, which was about forty minutes from Combeferre’s apartment. But he wasn’t sure, as far as he knew, he was in a different state by now.

            Right now, all he knew was that he was standing on the side of the road and cars were driving past, kicking up water in the gutters and everyone inside those cars was staring at him, thinking _look at that pathetic kid, all along and soaking wet. I bet he doesn’t have friends. I bet he didn’t get accepted anywhere. Look at him shiver. He’s so weak._

Enjolras took a step toward the curb, wondering if he could flag someone down and beg for their phone. At that moment, a loud boom of thunder burst through the atmosphere and Enjolras yelped in surprise, falling backwards and hitting the pavement hard. He lay there for a moment, on his back and shivering as the rain pelted his face.

            Finally, once his body was starting to go numb, he pulled himself to his feet, slipping on the wet sidewalk and falling twice before he managed to stand. He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and walked on, in the direction of what he hoped was civilization.

            He was shivering violently by then, his fingers chilly, and every breath he took came out as a weak rasp. He made a sound that might have been either a cough or a sneeze, he wasn’t sure, but all he knew was that it hurt, and something was pounding in his head. Another noise tore from between his lips, and he was certain that it was a sob that time. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, shocked by how cold both his hand and his nose were.

            _I’m going to die,_ he thought, but it didn’t really sink in, because his head was taken up by sinus pain and the deafening thumping. His nose started itching again, and he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to stop another sneeze because he was pretty certain his head was going to explode. But that only made it force it way out with a vengeance, so violent that Enjolras ended up on the sidewalk again.

            He pressed his cheek to the concrete, pretending that the wet pavement was Combeferre’s hand, cool against his fever. There was another crack of lightning, so close that Enjolras nearly felt the vibe of electricity in the air. He whimpered, and it took him a few minutes before he stopped shaking enough to sit up. The rain had soaked through his jacket, and now it clung to his skin. His curls had gone completely flat. He could barely feel his face or his fingers or his feet.

            _I’m going to die_ , he thought miserably again, and the thought stuck this time.

            He thought about Cosette, how sad she would be if he died. She and Jehan would arrange flowers for his funeral. He thought about Grantaire, wondered what he would have to say about Enjolras if he was dead. And he thought about Combeferre. Combeferre pacing. Combeferre worrying. Combeferre crying. Combeferre driving out into the rain to look for him. Combeferre’s face if Enjolras turned up dead the next morning, curled into a frozen ball on the sidewalk.

            _No. No, no, no._

With another shaky breath, Enjolras found his legs again and started running. There was a light up ahead, maybe a gas station, but Enjolras told himself that that light was Combeferre, waiting for him with open arms and a cup of tea, and he ran faster.

* * *

Combeferre didn’t recognize the number, but he nearly swerved across the road to answer it anyway.

            “Enjolras?”

            All he heard was ragged breathing for a moment, and then, “I don’t know where I am but this is a pay phone and I dug some quarters out of a vending machine, and this is so embarrassing, I got those quarters from a vending machine, I mean, they were someone’s quarters and I just . . .”

            “Enjolras. Enjolras, listen to me. Where are you?”

            “I don’t know. Outside this gas station somewhere. It’s raining. ‘Ferre, it’s so cold. I’m so cold. Please come find me.” He broke into a barking cough. “Please, I don’t know where I am and it’s _cold._ I got on a bus and it took me here . . . I don’t know. I won’t run away again, I swear, just please, come get me. Don’t leave me out here, please, ‘Ferre, please.”

            “Enjolras, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m coming. Just tell me where you are.”

            Between coughs, Enjolras managed to get out a name and a bad description before the time ran out and the call dropped. Combeferre turned the car around, heading in the right direction. Toward Enjolras was always the right direction.

            He found the gas station half an hour later, after a few wrong turns and too many waits at red lights. Grabbing his umbrella, he hopped out of the car, wincing at how cold the rain was.

            “Enjolras!”

            He ran to the side of the building, the light wind tugging at his umbrella. “Enjolras!” he yelled again, but it was useless, because he heard faint coughing and saw the figure huddled against the wall. Enjolras had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled over his head and his hand in his sleeves, and he looked unbelievably small, curled up against the wall with his knees to his chest.

            Combeferre knelt in front of him and touched his cold cheek before Enjolras’ bleary eyes registered what was going on. With a choked sound, he threw himself at Combeferre, burying his face in his shirt.

            “I’m sorry,” he said weakly. He was shaking.

            Combeferre wanted to lecture him later about the dangers of going off alone during a thunderstorm, but with a soaked and shivering Enjolras lying in his arms, this was not the time.

            “It’s okay, Enj. You were stressed out, and you’re sick and I know you get irrational when you’re not feeling well.”

            “So you don’t think I’m awful?” Enjolras whispered into Combeferre’s chest.

            “Unbelievable, yes. Reckless, yes. But never awful.” Combeferre ran his fingers through Enjolras’ curls and he immediately stopped shaking, curling closer to Combeferre. He could feel the coldness of Enjolras’ hands through his shirt.

            “Will you take me home?” Enjolras asked.

            Combeferre nodded, taking Enjolras underneath the arms and hauling him to his feet. He pressed him close against his side, letting him slip underneath the umbrella. He helped Enjolras into the car, pulling off his own jacket and arranging it around his trembling shoulders. He sent a quick text to Courfeyrac telling him that Enjolras had been retrieved and then drove home, slowly, carefully, because only one hand was one the wheel, and the other was gripping Enjolras’ hand tight.

            Enjolras was still shivering when they reached the apartment, and Combeferre leaned him against the wall while he poured some water for tea, since Enjolras didn’t seem capable of keeping himself up. He looked significantly sicker now, though that was hardly a surprise.

            Combeferre decided to put Enjolras into his bed, since it was bigger and he knew that Enjolras wasn’t going to want to sleep alone. Enjolras immediately snuggled under the covers after struggling out of his damp clothes, his waterlogged shoes splashing dirty water all over the floor. Combeferre got him to emerge from his blanket nest to take a few sips of chamomile tea before Enjolras collapsed against the pillows again, looking exhausted.

            “Will you stay?” he asked, his eyes heavy.

            Combeferre stroked his hair in response, and Enjolras sighed tiredly, curling up against him, his still cold fingers pressed against Combeferre’s stomach in order to warm them up.

            “Oh!” Combeferre said, suddenly remembering something. “Cosette ran into Mr. McDaniels next door on her way out, and she told her that she found something of yours in his mailbox. The postman must have accidently stuck it in there . . .” But Enjolras was already asleep, not hearing any of it. Combeferre grinned, one hand still in Enjolras’ hair as he reached for the envelope from the university, tucking it under the pillow for when he woke up in morning.

**Author's Note:**

> note: Combeferre's neighbor, Mr. McDaniels, is not a five-headed dragon. Someone please understand or else I will feel really silly for feeling the need to make this reference.  
> My tumblr: lamarque-getset-go.


End file.
